Monday morning dawned fair in Wilmington. I sat on the porch of my son, Tres’ cottage, near downtown in the first hours of light, in the company of his kittens, “Hank” and “Jolene”. There were only a few folks out, compared to the week end mornings. Only a few dogs got walked today, and I only saw one stroller. Folks were leaving in a hurried state and I listened to more than a few dogs moan pitifully, the first few minutes of their owners’ departure. Tres had to leave too. Mondays change everything.
Will, Jenny and I were leaving by noon and so I did not tarry long on the porch-I had things to do. The last few days had been busy and I did not feel well, either. Tres had “waited on me hand and foot” and I wanted to do something for him. I grabbed a pair of scissors and took to cutting some of those “southern vines”, I complain of often. I had noticed several thorned vines in a camilla and the hateful “Virginia creeper” invading the jasmine. I pulled a few weeds and then commenced to sweeping the porch. If I’d have had just a few hours, Tres would have come home to scrubbed floors and a cooked lunch. Instead, he will find a letter on his pillow, declaring him a noble son and brother. . .and all sorts of other endearments, love mom.
We left Wilmington right on time. I told myself, Thanksgiving was not so awful long, away, but waving good bye to Brant, was sad anyway. I took some comfort, that he would have plenty of rutabagas for the next couple of days. He just loves rutabagas.
Lyla is a funny little companion to travel with. If we had to wait long at a stoplight, she would say ” oh no! we are stuck!” If Will hit a bump in the road, she would shout “whoa daddy!” She fell asleep an hour into the trip with a cookie in her hand, I had packed in case of “tough times” on the journey.
Not far from the city by the sea, were cornfields. The stalks are now dried to a toasty brown and laden with cobs of bright yellow corn. Some people have pumpkins out. Marigolds are in their glory and making quite a statement in many yards. Leaves are likely to come unfastened in the slightest breeze, and when they do, they twirl and flutter as if they were part of well choreographed ballet.
When we pulled into the rabbit patch, I was thankful the grass did not need mowing. Cash greeted me like I had been gone a fortnight and the kitchen fairly sparkled. Nothing was out of place. Kyle and Christian, never let me down on maintaining proper order , in my absence. Of course I had to say good bye again – now to Jenny, a most thoughtful and loving daughter-and Lyla which is always a hard thing. . .and last, but far from least, Will, who I declare, is another son and I could not have “hand picked” a better one. Thank Goodness ( another name for God) Christian was home, and that was a saving grace .
Supper was cooking and clothes were washing, by the time Kyle came home. I took a stroll around the territory and found the loosestrife and zinnias were spent. The roses in the “Quiet Garden” are especially quiet-and they have a right to be, in September. The “autumn joy” has deepened dramatically to a warm plum color, and seems to be bragging about it . . . In a span of just four days, much can happen in the countryside.
Dear Rabbit Patch Diary, I am glad for the ” ties that bind” family . I am glad for the way the countryside announces seasons. I am glad for safe travels from the sea to fields, with loved ones . . .and a place to come home to where love abides-and the Autumn joy blooms.